


Shiny, Shiny

by sangueuk



Category: Star Trek (2009), Star Trek RPF
Genre: M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-01
Updated: 2011-03-01
Packaged: 2017-10-16 01:04:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangueuk/pseuds/sangueuk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Karl’s feeling possessive – it’s PWP, folks.</p><p>Intriguing snippet: Karl seemed to know how to handle the attention in a way that Chris just couldn’t seem to manage. He was desperate for a smoke, desperate to get out of the fucking suit, desperate to be alone with Karl.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Shiny, Shiny**

“I can _smell_ how aroused you are.”

Chris snapped his head around to examine Karl’s profile. “ _What_?”

When what he _wanted_ to say was, how the fuck can you tell?

Karl leaned into him ever so slightly, keeping his eyes on the middle-distance, unfazed by the buzz, the cameras, the push and shove, the sheer energy of want clawing at them from the hordes around them. Karl seemed to know how to handle the attention in a way that Chris just couldn’t seem to manage. He was desperate for a smoke, desperate to get out of the fucking suit, desperate to be alone with Karl.

The flash photography was making Chris squint more than it usually did and his eyes fucking hurt; he really needed to take his lenses out-

“Karl, shut up,” he hissed, eyes dead ahead now.

“They can’t hear me,” Karl said, “just you, _Pine_.”

Fuck, Karl only ever called him Pine when he was hard. He’d told him that the first time they’d fucked, ten days ago.

“You want to know when you’re on my mind, on my _dick_ \- listen out for how I say your name. You’ll know.” Then this innocent, crinkly ‘dad’ smile that had Chris wrapping his legs around him tight, hands on Karl’s shoulders, wishing he had nails to claw at him, drag him deeper.

Chris felt a lick of heat in his balls, slicked up his lips with his tongue.

“Thing is, Chris, I saw the vid, the interview with Zach. You looked pretty cosy-” He loved the way Karl said his name, the way one syllable became half with a hiss at the end that had had him fixated on Karl’s lips, imagining them doing dirty things to his cock, as early as that first day when they’d filmed the shuttle scene.

Karl’s hand burned on the small of his back and Chris was acutely aware of how their shoulders pressed into each other, how their hips were level… shit. Of _course_ he was aroused. He’d had a half-hard dick for ten days, except for when it was fully hard and bursting at the seams until Karl managed to do something about it.

“Are you seriously pissed? What the fuck, Karl, he's my _friend_.”

“I think I’m going to have to teach you another lesson.”

God. _Please_.

+++

It was _hours_ before they were alone and even then it was a moment won by Karl’s smooth renegotiating of who got to be in which limo.

“Think he’s on the verge of having a meltdown over the paps. I need to talk to him before he makes an arse of himself.”

See, if that had been Chris, he’d have got all flushed about the neck, given himself away somehow. Karl had a way about him that people believed whatever he said.

Like now. There was no reason not to believe Karl when he said things like _this_ with his hands gripping Chris hard, one splayed across Chris’ throat, five points like branding irons, pinning him back on the car seat. The other hand pushed against his mouth and Chris knew what was expected of him so he licked Karl’s palm, slicked it up with his tongue, and then it was grabbing in his suit pants for his aching cock and Karl’s eyes were fixed on Chris’ face, burning and predatory.

“Holy fuck that’s a beautiful sight, Pine. Hard for me, huh, just from thinking about me being pissed off with you?” Karl’s right hand, cool and deliberate, and Chris shuddered when dark eyes looked down at Chris’s cock, appraising it, no rubbing, no friction. Yet. Chris gulped a sharp breath that did nothing to help his brain work any better.

“ _Are_ you mad at me?” he managed to say, arching his back as Karl tightened his grip but still didn’t move his hand up or down.

“What do you think?”

“I…fuck, Karl, I don’t _know_ , all I know is I’m going to…”

“But I’m barely touching you, Pine.” Lips curling, eyebrow arching, drawing him in, pinning him down like a specimen for his enjoyment.

Chris realized his own hands were braced against the seat and he was rigid from toe to scalp, trying to counteract the fucking unbelievable feeling of Karl holding him down, the effort of trying not to come all over his suit, all over the leather upholstery. Karl’s berry-colored lips were close to his, so he could smell his aftershave, his warm, coffee-laced breath, but as much as he wanted to clamp onto that ripe mouth, Chris didn’t move; he’d already learned that when Karl was in one of his possessive moods, the best thing he could do was roll with it.

“No point in fighting the surf, mate,” Karl had growled in his ear the first time he’d let Chris witness this side of him.

Ten days and already he’d seen the Kiwi version of Jekyll and Hyde. First there was the ‘normal’ fucking - if you could call mind-blowing, go all night, bent over every item of furniture that got in the way sex ‘normal’. That persona was soon shunted aside by an alleged look from a fan or an agent or maybe one of the crew and then Karl-Hyde, as he’d come to think of him, wasn’t happy until he’d bitten his name into Chris’ chest or scrawled it with blunt nails all over his cock, until he’s swallowed every drop of Chris' come, mumbling ‘mine, mine’ while Chris shuddered through the most exhausting, wounding orgasms he’d ever experienced.

Then there was Jekyll: Karl in the morning, spooning him, nuzzling against his neck until he slicked up and was pressing into Chris before he’d even woken up properly; Karl at press conferences, glancing at him from across the room, a flicker of warmth in his eyes, an expression that said _something_ , shared secrets with him; Karl letting Chris wash his hair and then fucking him slowly in the shower, wringing out every cry and moan he could from Chris before he upped the tempo and flattened him against the tile, the water cold and bracing around their panting bodies.

Thing is, Chris couldn’t decide which version he liked best.

And who said he had to choose, anyway?

Ten days and he was so addicted to _this_ , to the feel of Karl’s hands on him, holding and supporting him, that he thought he might die if someone announced that this was _it_. That this just came with the junket, and it would be over as soon as it had started, soon as they stepped out of the limelight, like a holiday romance or something.

“Come on, pretty boy, _show_ me, show me whose got the kite strings here.” Karl tightened his grip on Chris and began a hard, brutal, uneven yank on his cock, and Chris moaned and stuttered and clung onto Karl’s shoulders, thinking he really should lift his shirt away because they’d have to get out of the car soon, and he really needed to come or he wouldn’t be able to walk ever again.

Karl let go of his throat and curled his arm around Chris’ hips, pulling him into his hand hard, ratcheting up the pace, his face inches from Karl’s, and Chris hissed through clenched teeth, saw how Karl’s mouth mirrored his own, how his lips parted when Chris’ did, how he chewed on his bottom lip when Chris was almost there, how his eyes drew him towards that lust, that _fucking_ moment just before, and then he couldn’t help but squeeze his eyes shut because _Jesus_ he really couldn’t come, much as he wanted to, too aware of the driver behind the smoked glass, and then, then he felt Karl’s mouth on his earlobe and the lilt of his voice, growling.

“Look at me, Pine.”

And he obeyed and when Karl _saw_ him and sang all low and breathy, just for him, “Shiny, shiny-“ he was almost undone; then one last drag of Karl’s hand upwards and, “whiplash _boy_ -child on your bended knees-“ and he came hard, lifting his ass off the seat, pulling Karl’s face into his chest till one last, bone-cracking shudder, and he fell back, let go, panting like he’d run a mile and he’d just escaped from the fucking ice-bug-monster or something.

Bastard. Not a hair out of place, not a sign on that smug face that he had a fist full of come to dispose of.

“There,” Karl said, calm as you like, wiping his hand on Chris’ _two hundred fucking dollar_ shirt. “Now when I have a smoke I’ll be able to smell you.”

The limo pulled up and Chris wondered where he’d find the strength to pull his shirt back down over his belly, tuck himself in, rearrange his face so he looked like he had any IQ to speak of.

Karl reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a packet of cigarettes, ran one along his filthy tongue and handed it to Chris.

“Speak later,” he said, buttoning his jacket, waiting for the car door to be opened and unwinding elegantly till he’d stepped through and out and Chris scrambled behind him, remembering how to act, remembering he needed to find his character _now_ – Chris Pine, Captain fucking Kirk.

Outside a small group of fans huddled in the chill evening air, watching from behind the ropes as the limos turned up for the party. Karl was standing next to Zoe, laughing uproariously at something Simon had said and Chris made straight for Zach who slipped his arm around Chris’ shoulders. Chris didn’t attempt to shake him off but leaned ever so slightly into him before he broke away and headed up the steps, taking a moment to stop and wave at the fans and, let’s be honest, to look at Karl.

The arched eyebrow was full of dark promise and Chris loved a man who kept his promises.

~FIN~


	2. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris has a plan. There is mansex involved.  
> Intriguing snippet: _His timing will have to be just right and, as ever, Chris has done his research, although you won’t find anything about it in his notebooks. Karl’s as much of a character to study as a new role, and what he says, his rhythms, and his tropes are etched on Chris’s skin, his tongue, his heart. He’ll spot the signs._
> 
>  **Warnings** : RPS – avoid if this offends you. Also lots of bad language and a heap of angst.  
>  **Disclaimer** : This is all lies. None of it is true. It’s the ramblings of a fangirl and I mean no offence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was helpless in the light of all those photos of Karl looking like he _owns_ Chris, so I wrote -Shiny, Shiny . Then, Chris said it was his turn to be all toppy, and he looked all possessive - so I just did as I was told. While this fic probably stands alone, it’ll make more sense if you read Shiny, Shiny first. Also, this kind of has something to do with heist movies, or not. The last line is from _The Italian Job_.
> 
> Thanks to emiliglia for beta reading.
> 
> A birthday fic for my beloved weepingnaiad

**The Plan**

**1 – the plan**

It’s six weeks before Chris gets it, _really_ gets it.

The penny drops when he touches Karl's back – right above his ass – accidentally while they’re fucking. Karl flinches, stills, and when Chris applies a little pressure, he braces, slides his hands under Chris’ ass for leverage, shifts up a gear, and fucks Chris like his life depends on it.

O-kaaay… _that_ was interesting…and a nubbin of a plan begins to form in Chris’ blissed out brain.

Yep. He knows what to do. And he needs to get on it – time's running out.

++

 **2 - the one man crew**

Even so, Chris doesn’t rush in.

Two whole days, like some kind of naturalist on Discovery, he watches and waits for Karl-Hyde to become dormant. That’s what he’s come to call Karl when he’s in full on possessive, jealous, I’m-going-to-remind-you- _who_ -you-belong-to mode. It’s signaled by a glare, then he calls Chris ‘Pine’, and it ends with furious fucking. It’s been the best sex of his life. Period. But it’s always been Karl driving and Chris isn’t sure how he feels about that.

And to make this work, Chris has to be good, despite _really_ enjoying Karl-Hyde's payback when he’s bad. And it’s less than easy when there’s so many people around _all_ l the fucking _time_ , all wanting to touch or talk to him. He’s not interested in them, not like _that_ anyway, and while Chris is not fond of clichés, he has to admit that the Kiwi’s spoiled him for everyone else. But Karl doesn't know this, so his eyes are constantly on Chris in public for any signs of breaking the rules – which, if Chris is honest, ordinarily would _make_ him rebellious and flirtatious.

But a plan’s a plan.

Karl hasn’t referred to him as Pine in a few days; the sex has temporarily evolved into gentle – normal, even. Sure there’s always an undercurrent of fervor that's part and parcel with the sneaking around in one hotel after another, but that aside, _this_ is practically vanilla. Okay, maybe the language isn’t vanilla, but this is the missionary position, isn’t it?

Karl’s above him, face intent, eyes locked with his. Chris’ legs are wrapped around his back. Yeah, it’s a perfect opportunity.

His timing will have to be just right and, as ever, Chris has done his research, although you won’t find anything about it in his notebooks. Karl’s as much of a character to study as a new role, and what he says, his rhythms, and his tropes are etched on Chris’s skin, his tongue, his heart. He’ll spot the signs.

True to form, Karl dips his jaw, his mouth runs dirty and his eyes fall shut. In about thirty seconds, Chris knows, he’ll winch them open, give a final thrust, and come with his trademark look of...what – disbelief?

“Fuck, Chris, _fuck_ -” Karl grinds out, eyes ebony with lust. Chris allows his hand to hover over his own dick once more in a delicious, self-torturing moment.

“Come on, baby, come on-” He’s amazed at how calm he feels, despite being so close himself. Yeah, this is it, he thinks as he slides his heel to the small of Karl’s back to that spot, the one he’s mentally singled out, and as Karl’s eyes open wide and he lets out that gasping moan, Chris presses his heel home, holds it right _there_ , and stares breathlessly as Karl’s eyes flare dark and beautiful, and he rides out his orgasm.

Perfect timing. He can almost hear the baseball fans cheer.

Karl’s still thrusting feebly, breath ragged when Chris finally grips his own cock and, with his other hand, pulls at the back of Karl’s neck and whispers in his ear, “Mine.” The bases are loaded and he's got a full count, so to speak. And, as he comes hard, with Karl watching him (boy he _really_ likes to watch Chris come, he’s told him so many times), Chris says, “Remember-” with his eyes and his mouth and the continued pressure on Karl’s back.

Home run.

Karl kisses the tip of his nose, slides out, and pulls Chris on top, their bellies slipping through come and sweat. He draws Chris’ tongue into his mouth for dessert. Bastard and his sweet tooth. Chris can’t help chuckling.

“What’s so damned funny?”

True, Chris can’t stop grinning. “ _Fuck_ – that was intense.”

“Yeah – but funny?” Karl rubs his face with the back of his hand, “It’s like you weren’t all there-”

Chris punches him on the shoulder with his right arm which, like every other part of him, has lost most of its strength. “I just thought it was kind of funny.” He’s not about to explain why. This is the great thing about screwing guys, he’s learning - they never push with post-coital questions.

Eventually, after much staring into the middle distance and ear nibbling, Karl lets out a contented huff. “I’d better go back to my room,” he says.

Chris pushes up onto his elbow and watches Karl tug on his pants and shirt. He shoves his socks into his shoes and heads for the door.

“You’re not staying for a shower?” Chris asks. It’s about as nonchalant as he can muster without a few rehearsals first. Karl steps back towards him and leans down, one hand balancing on the headboard.

“Nah – I’ve gotta make a couple of calls – see you there, ‘k?”

“ ‘K.” He manages to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

They kiss again and pull apart with a smack of lips which is a shame because victory has gone straight to Chris’ cock, and he’s up for another round.

The door clicks shut; Chris looks up at the ceiling and announces to no one, in his best imitation of Karl’s accent, “Looks like the tables have turned, _Pine_.”

++

 **3 – scoping the joint**

They arrive at the red carpet in separate cars, and he spots Karl immediately, chatting to Eric, and it’s a testament to the Urban Appeal that Karl's the first thing he notices and only seconds _later_ a giant fucking _Enterprise_ – shit, that’s awesome, even he has to admit it. He wonders if Karl’s already negotiating how he’s going to get that one back on the plane home.

Over the weeks, Chris has scrutinized the online pics of them together and has, maybe, even jerked off to a couple. Yeah, he’s noticed how easily Karl steps into that possessive stance; Karl-Hyde's present in the intent expression, the determined set of his jaw, the alpha eyebrow and, how could he _not_ notice, the way he rests a hand on Chris’ back _every damn time_. Chris can’t understand why people aren’t talking about them as an item, and then Chris starts one of his internal word-lists – _duo, pair, partners_ – fuck, that’s so hot and also really _annoying_. An unnamed emotion spirals in his guts, and he buttons up his jacket, hides it away; he’ll think about it some other time when the feeling escapes to tighten at his throat, reminding him of what an idiot he is, if he can bring himself to look.

Focus. Back to business.

Chris has learned ‘how to be’ from the master. And the sweet irony of it - Karl’s strengths are going to become his weakness. Chris will use the power of unbalancing force on his opponent just like they taught him during Trek combat training – thank you, Krav Maga – then hammer punch.

Like that afternoon, timing is key.

And a bit of luck; good old Eric is inadvertently helping him out. Bonus.

There’s no way he can make out the subject of their conversation through the babble, but Chris has heard variations on the theme many times. Karl’s such a geek, and they’re shaking their heads at the giant fucking _Enterprise_. Normally he’ll smile fondly at how Karl erupts into one of his dorky laughs, the way he’ll pull in his bottom lip and look side on at you when he’s being cute, but not tonight. Tonight his own alter-ego is stretching his legs, and Chris is on a roll.

++

They’re herded into a line, right in front of the ship and, fuck, he feels proud; this is _his_ ship, dammit. He shifts away from Karl, wedges between Eric and JJ, and over the long minutes he manages to sneak a look, and he sees Karl standing slightly off to the side at one end, hands braced by his thighs, all fucking lumberjack and shit. No possessive man paws on Eric. Maybe Chris feels a little smug.

Then the handlers rearrange them again. They drift apart and wait. Damn he needs to pee, needs a drink, needs a cigarette, but JJ’s there, and he’s a Nazi about this stuff. His mouth tastes like a chicken coop on a summer’s day.

Okay. _Now_.

++

 **4 - getting the gear**

Chris feels a blanket of calm settle across his shoulders when Karl appears to sense he’s watching and glances over. Chris suffers another lick of heat, this time in his back when their eyes hold and, without questioning whether this is a good idea or not, Chris mouths, “Mine.” He doesn’t blink – he knows what works for him. Karl’s eyebrows knot for a second as he processes the exchange. When he looks away, Chris remembers to breathe.

“Can we have one of you and Karl?” The sounds flood back, and he’s right there again.

They take up their usual stance, Karl to his right, but this time it’s Chris who moves his arm behind Karl, allowing his hand to find the mark branded by his heel that afternoon. Fuck, he can feel the scorching heat of Karl’s skin through the cloth.

Chris doesn’t dare look in case he drools (and _that_ won’t help him find his character), but he _knows_ how Karl looks right now; he’s probably doing his sultry face. The guy has more than his fair share of signature poses – there has to be some reason he looks more than good in every damn shot. But Chris knows that Karl’s far from perfect up close, _really_ close. He’s reveled in exploring the asymmetry with his tongue, licking at the faintest of sun-damage on Karl’s face, chewing at that slightly thinner upper lip, and nuzzling the fleshy bit just under his chin – fuck, he’s getting hard thinking this way.

On the other hand, if you caught Chris in the wrong light, you’d see his acne scars (fucking HD), the ape span of his knuckles, and how his left eye always lets him down when he’s tired.

It’s sweet that Chris sees this shit that no one else gets to. Well, he thinks, pushing that feeling down – no one else _today_ , anyway.

Chris works the charm all evening yet takes care to not flirt with anyone. During the screening they hang out in the bar, and Chris circulates, chats with his handler, hangs out mostly with Zach, and studiously doesn’t look Karl’s way once. It’s trying for sure, and he’s going to make up for it later, but for now he’s sticking to his plan.

Karl won’t know that, despite his stoic, controlled outward appearance, Chris can’t help thinking back to how it feels to have Karl _fucking_ Urban inside him, growling his name, that sewer tongue licking the column of his neck.

++

It isn’t by design that they bump into each other in the men’s room, but the chance meeting helps things along; Chris is lathering his hands, and Karl’s frowning in the reflection-

“Hey,” Karl says, voice a little – uncertain?

“Hey!” Chris says, smiling (or maybe smirking), and he ups and leaves before Karl can say anything else, the sideways look of mild confusion like fire to Chris’ cock. Yeah, the tables have turned. And even if they haven’t, the worst that can happen is Karl will teach _him_ a lesson – and what can be wrong with that?

++

Outside it’s dark; flash guns and cheers pulverize him when they emerge. Chris blanks the prowling paps, sliding over each other like rain-drenched locusts. Being pissed at them kind of helps him get into the right mindset for later. He makes for a group of Japanese fans, smiles, and reaches for their pens.

++

In the car on the way to the after-show party, he sends Karl a text.

 _Remember_

It’s a while before a simple _Maybe_ … comes back. He grips his phone like a lifeline and stares out into the neon Tokyo night.

++

Karl and Eric are joined at the hip, sharing antipodean news, whatever…Although he’s in role, jealousy isn’t in Chris’ nature, yet he pretends it is for tonight. Truth is, he likes to see Karl smile, and maybe he’s noticed that there’s been a little less of that lately. He hasn’t asked, hasn’t mentioned it, probably never will, but he’s noticed.

His phone vibrates. He can see Karl on a stool a few feet away waiting for him to pick up the message. Chris likes this tension; it makes everything new again – like it _needed_ vamping up, but seriously, he’s so hard, if he stands to search his back pocket, it’ll be a dead giveaway, so he waits, takes his suit jacket off, drapes it nonchalantly across his thighs, then wriggles for his phone.

 _You’re different_

Hmm…so he’s noticed. In the end Chris settles for:

 _From all the other girls?_

Karl picks up the message immediately. He’s looking over Eric’s shoulder, the phone at arm’s length – the poor bastard’s getting long-sighted in his old age – and there’s that adorable little frown from the king of eyebrow porn. Yeah... just like that… He turns to Eric and launches into Karl the Goofball, all side-long looks and more eyebrows and now a flash of white teeth, and Chris fucking aches to arrange him on cool white sheets, lick up the back of his thighs – fuck… _patience_ , he tells himself.

++

 **5 – the job**

Chris must have fallen asleep because there Karl is, leaning on the doorjamb, late, so late, but he’s here! He’s shed the suit and dressed how Chris likes him best – shapeless denim shirt, worn jeans, no belt, and, holy fuck, bare feet. Karl rests his ice bucket and Chris’ keycard on the table and advances toward him. Chris leans up on his elbows and fights a smug grin when Karl stops a few feet from the bed.

“Hi,” he says, a little cautious.

“You got time?” Chris says, thinking, _I’m in charge here, I fucking am._

“Sure.” And Chris fancies there’s an implicit _if you want me to…_

“Different…” Chris says, like they’d been talking about it just moments ago. He leaves the question mark out.

Karl’s eyes scan Chris’ face, flick to the clock. It’s 2 AM, and yes – he hesitates. This is new and delicious. Where’s Mr. Ernest, Mr. Kooky and, more importantly, Mr. Possessive? Karl looks like a guy on his first date, hoping for a kiss.

Chris swings his legs off the side of the bed and looks at his toes. “You want a beer?” He moves to the minibar, conscious of Karl’s eyes burning into his ass when he bends down.

“Yeah, why not-?”

Ordinarily, by now, Karl would have Chris’ pants down and his ankles up on his shoulders, yet he seems to have worked this out, understanding that he needs to go with the flow.

They sit opposite of each other, their bare feet mere inches away under the table, and Chris chats like they’re just friends. He remembers that part, it had lasted months before morphing into _you may see us as ‘just friends’ but I can’t stop thinking about your hands on me_ , and then it became _now, harder, harder…_ and here? Now things are in some kind of transition, and Chris is scared as fuck yet unsure why. He’s going to follow his plan through, although it’s becoming a little gray around the edges. Karl’s here, beautiful and uncertain and so damn _real_.

“So, you pissed off with me or something?”

Chris shrugs, feeling a little cruel and kind of liking it, and swills the beer around in his mouth, noting how Karl’s eyes rake his throat when he swallows. He sets the bottle down. “No, I’m not pissed…”

Will he probe? Chris wants to see if Karl will cross that line – the one where they’ll talk about this, but he’s afraid of what else might come up.

He glances at the ice bucket then back at Karl. It had started out as a prop and became a ritual – the one of them switching rooms (and it was usually Chris who stayed home because Karl insisted he had a better I’m-not-up-to-anything face) would dart into the corridor, ice bucket in hand. Should they bump into someone, the line was, “Shit- fresh out of ice-”

He pushes his chair away from the table, adopts a relaxed posture, parts his thighs, and sits back easy but the sound of his heart is pounding in his ears. He nods at the space on the floor between his legs and lets out a little sigh when he sees how Karl sinks to his knees and pushes both hands up and up, pressing at the silk-wool mix towards his inner thigh.

Karl stops, and Chris hisses at the fucking gorgeous burning eyes waiting for him to nod his permission. He manages to incline his head, and long fingers inch over his balls to the zipper. Chris closes his eyes, but when he remembers how much he pervs on Karl’s hands, he blinks and gazes hungrily as long, tanned fingers work at the opening.

“Use your teeth,” he hears himself say, and Karl’s eyes narrow for a moment until, with a guttural moan, he dips his head and begins to tease Chris’ shirt away with his lips, glancing up at him when Chris finds his hair and tugs at it in encouragement.

He shifts on the chair when Karl first touches his cock. “Suck me—” The two words that had haunted him all day are now eliciting a response he’d imagined in his mind’s eye but here, now, feeling warm hands stroking him, and _Jesus_ , Karl’s tongue darting at the tip – it’s so fucking sweet and agonizing and…

He runs his fingers through thick, dark hair, stoking the skin behind his ears, forcing himself to keep from thrusting.

“So, what were you and Eric talking about earlier?”

He has to hand it to Karl, delivering a “huh?” expression without breaking the rhythm of his mouth sliding over and over his skin - it can’t be easy.

“If that had been me, well…” Chris reaches behind to his suit jacket draped over the back of the chair and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. “Geeky stuff, best scenario, but whatever it was, I thought it was time for me to do the reminding of…fuck…” His first plume of smoke doesn’t come out as smooth and stylish as he’s planned.

Karl’s pulled his suit pants down to his ankles in one movement, pushing his thighs apart with a grunt, never releasing his dick, and wedges the knuckles of his right hand behind Chris’ balls, pressing just where he likes it, while his free hand slides up and down, keeping time with his tongue. Shit, Chris needs to get control back, and he’s promised himself all day that this was going to happen _his way_ – there’s so little time left. His throat hurts at the half-realization.

“Wait,” he says, feeling the sensations build precariously. “I…fuck, Karl, _stop_!”

Karl sits back on his heels, wipes his mouth with the back of his hands, and raises an eyebrow. “Anything you say, Pine.”

Bastard. Karl’s voice, that accent - it’s an unfair advantage. His hair’s all over the place, his pupils large, drawing him in… Chris has to look away.

Chris kicks his pants aside, goes to the standing mirror to drag it closer, and rearranges the dining chair.

“You going to take your shirt off?” Karl grins. “And I’m glad you’ve lost that, what is it you’d say – fugly tie?” How he likes to throw the Cal speak at him, tease him for being younger.

It makes this easier. Chris circles him, taking pulls on his cigarette.

“Undress. Slowly - I want to watch.”

Karl unfolds himself to stand in one easy movement and unbuttons his fly, eyes on Chris all the while, watching his mouth as he smokes. “You aren’t supposed to do that in here,” he says, unbuttoning his shirt.

“Fuck if I care – movie star, remember?”

Karl takes the cigarette from him, leaves it wedged in the corner of his mouth, and narrows his eyes as he slips his shirt off. Chris gazes hungrily at the trail of hair, his hip bones-

“How could I forget?” Another smile and Karl leans across him to drop the butt in the beer glass, licks his lips, balls up his shirt, and tosses it at Chris who thinks he really should mind that Karl’s seemingly intent on breaking the mood, but he’s too busy jerking himself off gently while drinking in the sight of bronzed limbs and the hair across Karl’s chest. Karl looks at him expectantly, and Chris sprawls lower in the chair.

“Pants,” he orders.

Karl drags his jeans and boxers down, steps out of them, and kicks them away. He’s as hard as Chris is, and for a moment Chris is torn; he wants that inside him, now, but no, he has to be strong.

“On your knees and unbutton my shirt.” He grips the back of Karl’s neck, runs his thumb through short hairs, inhales Karl’s cologne, and watches his long fingers work the buttons. The starched cotton rasps at his skin when Karl teases it slowly down his shoulders, and he moans when he leans in to lick his nipples, Karl’s hair tickling his chest. Chris holds him in place and lifts his legs, wraps them tight around his broad back to bring Karl closer for their first kiss of the evening.

He tastes bitter and warm; _I've been wanting this so much_ his tongue says over Karl’s teeth and lips. He licks his jaw and grabs at his hair, exposing his neck. He rakes his teeth on Karl's Adam’s apple and dark stubble. He has no idea whether Karl’s understanding him or not, but the way his tongue’s being sucked at, those fingers are working at his cock, he’s afraid he’ll forget how this is meant to go, so he leans back, trails a finger across Karl’s jaw.

“We need to swap places,” he says, and Karl’s eyes twinkle. He’s all laugh lines and an adorable, quirky grin, and Chris feels a little dizzy, needs to get a grip. He tugs at his hair again. “Now would be good.”

“It would, would it? You’re in a particular mood, Pine,” Karl says, staying put; he encircles Chris’ erection with an insistent hand and plunges his mouth an impressive distance down it, sending a spark of fire down the back of Chris' legs.

Fuck, _fuck_ -

Fortunately, Chris thinks, Karl won’t be able to see his slack-jawed expression; mirror-Chris is wide-eyed, teeth over lips - he looks about eight years old, vulnerable. This might be how he looked at school, that time he was cornered by the bigger kids, right about when he got his dumb glasses, but that was then…

“You said I'm different tonight; stand up, trade places with me, and I'll show you, make you _feel_ , how different I am.”

“Anything you say, _Captain_.”

Sarcastic son of a…

Karl releases him, stands; his presence is so solid above him. He nods at the mirror. “Need your audience, huh?”

Chris rolls his eyes. “No, what _I_ need is to fuck you into the floor.” It wipes the grin off Karl’s face. Chris pulls himself up and kisses Karl hard, nudging his own cock against his. “Now kneel facing the chair. I’ve been waiting all day.” He turns Karl around and guides him into position with his hands on the arm rests. He looks at Chris over his shoulder, his face serious.

“See, Karl, I’ve noticed how you like to do the possessive thing when it suits you.” He skates his fingers down the smooth, hard angles of Karl’s back, wincing inwardly at the contrast between his bitten nails and the perfection of the white skin under the tan line. He stops at his ass, breathing in at the way Karl cants towards him ever so slightly when he stops. He’s kneeling too close, so he shuffles back, inclines his head closer to warm skin and splays his fingers to lever the cheeks apart.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs to himself, licking his lips and bringing his mouth close. This is going to be a night of firsts. The chair shifts a little when Chris pushes his chin into the small of Karl’s back, loving the moan it elicits. Good God he smells so good – tangy, male, and, for now, his. He kisses and nips his way down, licks at the cleft of Karl’s ass, bites at the hard muscles and spends a long moment contemplating his goal until his tongue darts out and tickles at the darker skin around Karl’s hole.

“Chris, I…”

“Shush…let me…”

And his tongue thrusts forward. Chris knows what this is like, knows what it must be doing to Karl, and he wants to believe that this is Karl’s first time, that he’s discovered some secret place no one else can have. The thought makes the blood surge to his cock, and he moves a hand down, squeezing the base before it’s too late because one thing he knows for sure is that if _anyone_ can make him come without touching, it’ll be this olive-skinned dork, spread out before him like some holy thing, and he’ll have to stop thinking in run-on sentences soon, or he’ll forget who’s supposed to be driving.

Second new thing – the pleasure Karl must be feeling, it’s more important than his own, even. Sure Chris tends to selfless by nature, which makes him way too grateful in bed, but an inability to express this gratitude with his past, short-lived lovers, means he’s come off as detached out of bed. Not here, not now – he’s going to _show_ Karl. He can’t say it, almost can’t think it, but his heart’s in his throat when he slips his middle finger into the slick of saliva that’s formed under his mouth and eases it in gently but not too deep. He alternates this with stabs of his tongue, fucking Karl hard then soft, and just as he’s built up a rhythm, he pushes his finger in to the knuckle, trembling at the guttural moan Karl lets out. “Feel good?”

“God, _Chris_ -” The accent is hissing the vowel; no one else says his name like this.

Chris has him where he wants him, he thinks, watching in the mirror; Karl’s head’s on his arm, and he’s watching too. Fuck, where’d he put the lube? Ah, jacket pocket. He works his finger in further and reaches for the pocket, aware that he’s going to leave a stripe of saliva on the silk, but fuck it, no one asks questions at the cleaners, not when he’s saved the fucking planet. He catches himself smirking in the mirror; he kind of loves the way he mocks himself sometimes.

Karl’s back is long and glistening with sweat, muscles tensed, gorgeous.

“Want more, baby?”

“Uh-huh-” And in case Karl changes his mind, Chris holds his hips and pulls him down onto his finger. “There, _Jesus_ – there…”

“There?” He hooks his finger, causing Karl to toss his head back, and Chris has to taste some of that neck, so he licks along the tight muscle,and drops his forehead onto Karl's shoulder, scrunching his eyes to maintain control. Why the hell was he fucking about, he needs to be inside Karl now?

Okay, now he's using two fingers, and he’s gentle even though the way Karl’s bouncing his ass against his hand, it would seem like gentle is the last thing on his mind.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he whispers. “Gonna give you something to think about on the plane.” He feels Karl give around him. “I want you to watch me do it so you remember.” He pulls his fingers out and groans, the anticipation nearly killing him. “Hold still.”

The lube’s cold on his cock, and he thinks about the paps, airplane food, Keenser, Brussel sprouts, anything to keep him this side of the edge; he closes his eyes as he guides his cock to Karl’s entrance, not daring to look in the mirror because that would – oh, _God_ , so hot, so wet and ready, and he pushes past the ring of muscle, one hand’s on Karl’s hip, tugging him closer, and Karl flops forward.

“Fuck me,” he hisses. “Chris, don’t…”

Chris looks in the mirror. His neck’s flushed, his skin white against the tanned expanse of smooth skin under him, and he gulps and pushes more. “Don’t?” he manages to say. “What? Do this?” He pulls out an inch, advances two, panting a little, moving his hand to Karl’s shoulder, watching him in the reflection, the way he throws his head back, lips pursed, eyes scrunched – god he’s beautiful, and the sounds he makes each time Chris falters for a moment... His heart’s pounding so loud in his chest so the traffic noise disappears for the first time since they’ve arrived in Tokyo.

“Don’t fucking stop…don’t. Oh, shit, _shit_ …”

Chris shuffles closer, strokes the hairs on Karl’s thighs, and snakes his hand around to trail along Karl's cock which is leaking, burning hot. “Well, I’m glad we’re on the same page, here, Karl-Heinz; I was starting to think you preferred Australian ass—”

“Idiot—” Karl grumbles. “Why would I prefer it when your command of the English language is so, _oh_ … much better than theirs?” Karl tips forward to change the angle, bringing a hand back to hold Chris’ ass.

One final push, and Karl gives with a loud grunt. Yes. _This_. Chris steadies himself, his mind awash with raw feelings of need and possession and want and fear; yes, he thinks, holding still, savoring – _time’s nearly up_ – as he draws circles on Karl’s back, joining the moles and freckles, down to below the tan line, to _that_ spot, and presses the heel of his hand firmly in time with his thrusts.

++

 **6 - losing the bullion**

Chris can feel the pressure building in his balls, and he’s torn between letting go, drowning now, or torturing himself, but before he has a chance to unravel which is best, Karl’s pulled away until Chris slides out. Karl stands, takes his hand, and guides him to the bed; his knees are red from the carpet, his lips dry, swollen where he’s chewed them, and really, it’s an act worthy of a saint that Chris wants to slick them up for him so they don’t chap.

Before they get to the bed, Karl’s pulled him flush against his body, their cocks caught between them, and he kisses him long and slow. Karl tastes like all his favorite dishes rolled into one, and he wants to gorge, fill himself up on him, so he sucks on Karl's tongue, one hand wrapping around the back of his neck, the other pumping both of their cocks, the remaining lube keeping it this side of painful.

Karl’s stroking his arms, his waist, his chest as Chris murmurs into his mouth. “So fucking good, can’t stop, can’t stop wanting you-”

Karl jerks his head back, gaze dancing between Chris’s lips and eyes. “Shush, Chris – don’t—”

Chris nods and closes his eyes to gather himself; he shouldn’t have said that, fucking jerk. So he checks his inner screenplay and says, “Bed – I want to be on my back, so I can watch you fuck yourself on me-” Yeah. He’s still in charge of this.

Chris wedges himself against the headboard, tipping his head back so he can watch Karl’s face.

“Scoot up,” Karl says, and Chris groans when large hands lube him up, and he chokes out stuttering breaths as Karl begins to lower himself onto him. He uses his hand to hold his cock still and twitches forward and up. Karl pulls himself open, his face contorting, mouth gaping, eyes wide once he’s home.

Karl grips the headboard and starts to rock, and Chris just drinks in the sight, not quite sure who’s fucking whom here, but he's so close he almost doesn’t care that he’s losing control in every sense. He reaches for Karl’s cock, but his hands are batted away. Karl cranes to kiss him, their tongues rolling against each other until Chris can’t stand it anymore and flops back, lifting his arms to hold onto the headboard too. It really shouldn’t rattle like this, not in such an expensive room, but fuck if he cares when he has six foot plus of Kiwi fucking him.

His gasps are pleas as he meets each of Karl’s movements with a countering one, and when Karl let’s go of the headboard and winds his fingers into Chris's hand, he’s undone and coming before he can stop himself, raising his ass off the bed, choking out Karl’s name like some kind of desperate eulogy to everything. He’s shaking, trying to regain his composure, and he feels something prickle behind his eyelids as he comes back to the room to see Karl lift off him and fold forward. His cock’s up near Chris’ chest at this angle, and Chris slides two fingers into Karl to find his prostate, and Karl fucks himself on Chris’ hand, eyes molten, tongue between his teeth until his eyes fall shut, head tipping to the side, and Chris' chest and neck and face are suddenly wet and, fuck it, marked. And just like that he’s lost him as soon as he’s found him.

++

It’s daylight, and the room's a mess. It’s a while before either of them speaks – sure there’s been a lot of kissing, and Karl-Hyde has resurfaced, nipping at Chris’ neck, sucking on his fingers, pinching his nipples hard until Chris is almost weeping with the need to be fucked, taken. Chris doubts he’ll ever get hard again – he’s been emptied out and feels numb inside.

He’s a jackass, he thinks. His stupid fucking plan wasn’t going to make any difference to anything. The power’s all in Karl’s hands, and he’s too nice a guy to abuse it. It strikes him, as he watches Karl tongue his navel, that while in bed, the Hyde thing isn’t an act – this may be the only place anyone ever gets to see the real Karl. Chris, on the other hand, this whole ‘plan’ bullshit, it’s no more _him_ than being blind, kissing the fucking princess, or saving the planet.

As Karl would say – what an arse-hole.

Karl’s marked him, claimed him, whereas Chris has about as much power as a castrated gnat. And, he thinks, watching Karl gathering his things to leave one last time, it’s as it should be.

“I’ll call you when I’m next in LA. Try not to lose your phone again—”

Yeah, back to making jokes – well the book of Pine idiosyncrasies is closed now, _mate_ , Chris wants to say. He wonders if Karl will scrutinize the pap shots; he’s often teased Chris – he’s noticed how he’s always got a different phone or device, as Karl calls them. But Chris knows he won’t look – Karl will pull the drawbridge up (if they have those in New Zealand); he’ll make another go of things at home. Probably. Chris doubts he’ll call, but because he doesn’t want to find out, he’s going to change his number.

A hot-mouthed kiss to the palm of his hand, and Karl’s gone before Chris can wrap himself around him one more time.

Chris clenches his hand, still damp from Karl’s mouth, or is he imagining it? He rolls onto his belly and traps his hand under his chest. He buries his head under the pillow.

“Hang on a minute, lads, I've got a great idea," he says, glad the last line is muffled. He really needs to work on his cockney accent.

He’d laugh if he didn’t want to cry.

~FIN~

Feedback is love!

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Goodness me! Who would have thought I’d ever do this? I was helpless in the light of all those photos of Karl looking like he owns Chris.
> 
> Karl twisted the lyrics of ‘Venus in Furs’ by Velvet Underground to his own ends. It should be:  
> Shiny, shiny, shiny boots of leather  
> Whiplash girlchild in the dark etc…but hey, Karl can do what he likes, eh?
> 
> Thanks to emiliglia for beta reading!


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